


A Touch of Grace

by DragonGirl420



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl420/pseuds/DragonGirl420
Summary: After trying to perform the trials, Sam falls ill and Dean is unable to help him. He calls on an old friend of Sam’s, (Y/N), who just happens to be the girl that walked out on him two years earlier. Can they overcome any hard feelings to save Sam’s life?





	A Touch of Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @spnhollis 300 Follower Writing Challenge. I had three prompts: “I’m so in love with you that it hurts, like physically hurts.” “Why do you only call me when you need something?” “Why aren’t we together?” These are bold/italic when used in the fic.

Dean paced the upper bridge of the bunker waiting for the knock to come. He closed his eyes gently and prayed. He prayed for God to hear him, even though he was pretty sure God had stopped listening a long time ago. He prayed for his brother to wake up, he prayed for (Y/N) to get there and be able to help, somehow.

Another few minutes passed, by then he had convinced himself that she wasn’t coming. Dean exhaled as steadily as he could, all the weight and worry for Sam being the force expelling it from his body. He leaned against the railing, hanging his head and looked down into the bunker. It was quiet; too quiet for his liking. There should be more noise, more life, but everyone he knew or loved was either gone or somehow sidelined.

Finally, the sound he had been waiting for—three loud knocks at the cast iron door—pulled him from his bout of self-pity and prompted him to open it. (Y/N) was standing there, a large leather satchel over one shoulder and an expression of distrust on her face.

“You’re here,” he said, a tired, but hopeful grin expanded on his lips.

“You called, so here I am.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure… the last time we talked—”

“Months ago, Dean.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I figured with the way we left things, maybe I wasn’t the Winchester you’d answer for.”

“I almost didn’t. But, here I am. Where’s Sam?” she asked, barely acknowledging Dean’s presence as she walked through the door.

“He’s in his room. I thought he would be the most comfortable there.”

“Show me,” she said and despite asking him too, she took the lead and headed straight down the staircase. “Nice digs. It’s certainly an upgrade from the last motel I met up with you boys in.” (Y/N) gazed around the war room and strolled up into the library.

“Yeah, well… we lucked out and stumbled upon the old family homestead,” he retorted; diverting to sarcasm is where Dean shined best.

“Clearly.” She set her back down on the table in the library and turned to Dean. “So, you were vague on the phone. What exactly is wrong with him?”

“No small talk? No, ‘it’s good to see you again’?” Dean smiled, trying to move past the awkward stage, but it didn’t seem to work.

“Maybe if I had heard from you once in the last few months, but I haven’t.  ** _Why do you only call me when you need something?_** ”

She cast him the look that he had seen so many times since first meeting her years before. One brow raised, arms crossed over her chest, hip hitched out and her head tilted just enough that the reflection of the light caught in the frustration burning in her eyes.

 _Her eyes…_  Dean thought and felt his heart beat just a little faster.  _I could get lost in them forever_.

“Dean? Please… just… tell me about Sam. I didn’t come all this way to hash shit out with you. I came because you said my best friend was in a bad way, and he needed help.”

“Alright, fine. Come on, I’ll explain what happened on the way to his room.”

[Originally posted by frozen-delight](https://tmblr.co/ZSx6ko2eHpGb8)

 

You followed Dean down the long corridor that led to Sam’s room. As you walked, he explained about the spell Sam was trying to perform that came close to killing him.

“I had to stop him from finishing it. I wasn’t going to let him die,” Dean explained, pausing in the hallway to lean back against the concrete wall. “I don’t care what it would have stopped or accomplished, I can’t let my brother die.”

“Well, I definitely appreciate that. I’d be lost without Sam,” you said and didn’t miss the flash of hurt you saw in his eyes. “What is it that you think I can do for him, Dean? I’m not a doctor—”

“But you’re a witch,” he teased and recoiled slightly when he saw your tired expression.

Rolling your eyes at the old joke, you shook your head. “’Cause that never gets old,” you mumbled. “I’m not a witch, Dean. Never have been, and you know that.”

“But you know magic. You’re fluent in spell work.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’m practicing. It’s all in lore and theory, jackass. I’ve studied, sure. Did my entire Theology Thesis on the magic of healing through prayer, religion, witchcraft, and hoodoo. But I am not, in any respect, a witch.”

Dean sighed. “I know… but I figured you may know something that could,  _in theory_ , help him. If nothing else, you’re a medium, right? Maybe you could, like, mojo your way into his head; help wake him up?”

“He’s in a coma?” you asked, incensed. “You failed to mention that, Dean! He needs to be in a hospital! He can’t—”

“Eaaasy tiger. He’s not in a coma, exactly.”

“How is he, e _xactly_?” you asked, starting to be annoyed with him and more afraid for Sam.

Dean had a particular way for getting under your skin. It used to make you crazy in a good way, but since things ended between the two of you, it now just made you grit your teeth and try not to punch him. For Sam’s sake though, you’d refrain and do whatever you needed to in order to help your old friend.

“He’s there, he’s breathing, but he’s not waking up. Cas can’t heal him—”

“Cas?”

“Castiel, he’s an angel. But his powers were stripped thanks to another dick angel—”

“Whoa. Just, stop.” You ran your hand over your face and tried to wrap your head around everything he was saying. “Angels without powers, now? What happened to hauntings and werewolves for Christ’s sake?”

Dean shrugged. “Guess its been a while since we talked, huh?”

“Ya think? Just take me to him, please. Then we’ll figure everything else out when you give me all the details.”

* * *

 

You and Dean entered Sam’s room, his was laying in bed, motionless, except the slow rise and fall of his chest. His skin was graying and sickly, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. Your heart broke looking at him like this; his normally statuesque frame looking so small in the confines of the bed.

Dean stayed in the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Gently sitting on the edge of the mattress, you took Sam’s hand in yours. His skin was cool, and he didn’t respond to your touch. You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead and felt a fever there. Leaving his skin, you let your hand hover over his forehead and closed your eyes.

You connected with your ability to read people and hear spirits and tried to call for Sam’s subconscious to respond. But no answer came. After another moment, you removed your hand and turned back to Dean, just barely shaking your head. He understood instantly and left the room.

Sitting with Sam for another minute, you squeezed his hand and gathered up all your strength. “We’re gonna figure this out. I promise, Sam. Then, when you’re you again, you owe me a beer, alright?”

Reigning in some tears that wanted to spill, you kissed his cheek and went off to find Dean. He was leaning against the wall a few feet down the corridor from Sam’s room. His head was hung down, his arms still crossed, and his eyes were squeezed shut.

“Dean,” you started, unsure of what to say that could make him feel any better. Sam wasn’t well, and if he didn’t go to a hospital he could die.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. I can look through some of the books I have, but without truly knowing what’s wrong, or how bad off he is…. I don’t know  _what_  to look for. I think he needs a hospital.”

“No! Dammit!” Dean roared a sudden burst of anger causing him to shout. “I know you can save him. I know you can. You’re the only one who can!”

“But why me? I don’t have the first clue as to what’s wrong with him! By the time I do, it could be too late.”

“He was in the hospital, (Y/N). He wanted to come home,” Dean managed to get out before he slid down the wall, his eyes closing, his brow furrowed. “He told me to call you. That you could help.”

You could see the pain on his face, and despite the mixed feelings you had for Dean, your heart broke for him. Sitting on the floor beside him, you linked your arm through his and rested your head on his shoulder. The moment you settled in, he leaned his head against yours.

Everything came rushing back. All the love, all the memories, all the good moments you’d had with him over the years. If not for Sam’s dire situation, you could have easily gotten lost in those memories, and in Dean, again.

“I’ll try, okay? I love Sam, you know. Back at Stanford, he was one of my best friends. I am so glad that he kept in touch and let me in on the big secret. Learning the truth about what’s out there, it helped me not feel like a freak anymore. My life wouldn’t be what it is now, if not for Sam,” you paused and looked up at him. “And you.”

Dean swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, nodding his head only slightly.

“In my bag, I left on the table, I had some books in there, along with some supplies I’ve managed to accumulate over the years. I don’t know if they’ll help, Dean. But I can promise to try.”

You felt his body sigh with relief. “Honey, that’s all I need you to do, is try.”

His use of your old nickname made your stomach flutter. So much for  _resolved_  feelings, huh?

[Originally posted by faramaiofnerdwoodforest](https://tmblr.co/ZUxPGj2Wwf6h8)

 

Digging through the texts you brought, you looked for anything that dealt with healing the physical body. After getting through all but one, you were about to give up the research route until you came across a spell that you thought may help. Reading the ingredients out loud to Dean, he went through his inventory and had everything except the Grace of an Angel.

Closing the text, you laid your head against the table. “Any ideas of where one would obtain that?” you asked.

Dean just rubbed a hand over his stubbled cheek and shook his head.

Feeling defeated, you got up from the table and started pacing the room. Having spent most of the last decade studying religion, theology and all branches of witchcraft, you knew that Angel Grace was something that could be obtained. Though you had never seen it with your own eyes, you did remember an old mentor who had.

Perking up at the idea that just came to you, you dove into your bag and pulled out your cell phone. It took a minute or two of digging, but you came across the name you were looking for. Dean watched you curiously but knew enough to just stay quiet and let you work your angle.

After several minutes on the phone, you nearly screamed with excitement. Hitting the end call, you scurried back over to where Dean was pouring over the spell you’d found earlier.

“I was able to get everything else,” he said, his face drawn and weary. “Any luck on your end?”

“Not just luck, the best luck ever. I did a stint with a Catholic Priest last year while writing my dissertation, Father Henry. He’s a believer, knows the truth about what’s out there.”

“And?”

“And… he can give us Angel Grace,” you said, nearly breathless.

Dean’s expression morphed into an elated grin. Without asking, he picked you up, embracing you tightly and spun you around while cackling like a crazy person. When he finally put you down, Dean’s wall crumbled and he kissed you square on the mouth. You didn’t stop him, but you didn’t exactly give in to your own temptation.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back from you. “I’m a dick, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine, Dean. Really,” you replied, lightly touching your lip as if you were going to wipe it away. Truth was, the feeling of his mouth on yours just stirred it all up again. You didn’t want to wipe it away, you wanted more. “Just excited, no big deal.”

“Yeah, right. So, about the grace. Where do I have to go to get it?”

“That’s the best part. You don’t… I’ll be back in an hour. Father Henry’s parish is a thirty-minute drive from here. I’ll go and get back. See if you can follow that and prepare everything else. The last ingredient is the grace, so…”

“So, when you get back, we drop it in and pray that Sam can drink it and wake up.”

“Exactly,” you said, your confidence and excitement growing.

The way he looked at you, optimistic and grateful, caused that flutter to stir again.  _Holy shit… I’m falling for him all over again_ , you thought and tried to brush it aside. Grabbing your keys and purse, you bolted up the stairs and out the door without another word.

* * *

 

It wasn’t a long drive, but it was enough for you to think about Dean and the feelings you still had for him. Working with him this close, to save Sam of all people, wasn’t conducive to keeping your feelings at bay. You had never stopped loving him, really, the wall you had put up was for your own sake, as to not fall back into him again. Dean’s constant need to save people, putting his own life aside, had finally caused you to walk out, but the love… that was all still there and ever present.

True to his word, Father Henry met you outside the Parrish office a half hour later. He brought you through the rectory and into the main Cathedral, straight up to the altar. He knelt, made the sign of the cross, and though you weren’t a believer, you mimicked his actions out of respect and watched as he proceeded to open the tabernacle. Moving aside the Eucharist, he reached way back behind another small door and retrieved a small vile with a fluid blue, glistening liquid inside.

You inhaled sharply, unable to take your eyes from it.

“Wow,” you breathed, enamored with its beauty. “Are you sure, Father?”

“Yes, (Y/N). From what you have told me, and from our time together, I believe that you can be trusted with this. If you need to use it all, so be it. If not…” he shrugged.

“I’ll return the rest. Thank you, you are saving the life of a very important man.”

“Sam Winchester, right?”

“How did you know?” you asked, feeling a bit taken back by his knowledge.

“I may be a priest, my dear, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know things,” he winked and reached out the vile for you to take. “Take care of this, it’s priceless.”

“I will, Father Henry. Thank you.” You took the vile careful and swiped at the tears with your free hand. “You’re doing the world a great service.”

“Well, so has Sam Winchester. It’s the least I could do,” he mused and gently patted your shoulder, before showing you the way out of the church.

* * *

 

Dean heard the bunker door slam shut almost exactly an hour later. The relief he felt spilled out in waves the second he saw (Y/N) nearly running down the bunker steps. She took offer her coat and flung it to the table in one fell swoop.

“Get it?” he asked.

She nodded, smiled and retrieved the vile from the depths of her purse. It was wrapped in a white cloth and the minute Dean put his hands on it, he could feel its power radiating outwards.

“He said use what you need, but I have to return the rest.”

Dean nodded and carried it carefully to where the rest of the spell work waited. He reread the page and took extra care to open the vile, dropping in the few needed drops. A bright blue flash kicked up from the bowl, leaving a swirl of smoke by his eyes. When it cleared, he poured the spell’s liquid into a mug and looked over to (Y/N).

“Ready?”

“As we’ll ever be…” she said.

* * *

 

Once again, you followed Dean down the corridor to Sam’s room. He hadn’t moved but was still breathing, albeit it shallow. Dean handed you the mug and climbed onto the bed, propping Sam up against him so you could help pour the potion into his mouth. The minute it touched his tongue, Sam’s body began to move in little fidgets and flexes. Somehow, he was able to swallow it and by the time the last drop went into his mouth, his eyes were nearly fluttered open.

He started coughing, but Dean helped him to sit up more and you handed him a glass of water when he was awake enough to take it. Sam, more alert now, began looking around and realized he was in his room.

“How… where?”

“I brought you home from the hospital, Sammy. You wanted to come home,” Dean reminded him, and loosened his grip, but not entirely.

Sam nodded and when he looked around, his eyes focused on you and he smiled. “(Y/N)? What are you doing here?”

“Dean said you told him to call me, said that I would be able to fix you,” you smiled, feeling relief just wash over you at the sight of your best friend up and talking again.

“Oh,” he said with an uncertain smile. “Good on me, I guess.” He snorted a laugh and sat up more. A wave of lightheadedness hit him, and he tried to lay back down.

Dean moved out of his way and fixed the pillows again so he could. “We should let Sam rest. You’re gonna be okay, little brother,” he said and forced a smile. “You’re gonna be alright.”

Sam nodded slowly. Dean turned to leave the room, and you went to follow. Sam reached up and grabbed your hand, his eyes pleading for you to stay. You gave him a slight nod and turned back to Dean.

“I’ll catch up, just gonna make sure my bestie is all good,” you called after him.

Dean frowned in that agreeable way he did and nodded. “I’ll go make us some grub.”

Once he was gone, you sat on the edge of Sam’s bed, facing him. “You scared me, you know that?”

“I scared myself,” he said, coughed a little and then settled back against the pillows. “What the hell happened? How did you bring me back?”

“Dean called and said that you were hurt, said you asked for me to come to help you before you slipped into the coma, or whatever it was.”

“I—I didn’t ask him to call you, (Y/N). How would you have even known how to fix me? We had no idea what was happening, neither did the doctors.”

_That flutter again…_

“Well, whatever his reasons, I’m glad he did. You can’t scare me like this Samuel Winchester. I won’t have it. I can’t lose you, you know.”

Sam smiled weakly and squeezed the hand of yours he kept in his, but it was enough to show off the dimples you loved so much. “I know. I promise to be more careful.”

“You better. Can’t be leaving me alone with Dean, now. You know we’ll kill each other,” you winked at him and went to move off the bed.

“He loves you, (Y/N). He’s been an ass about it, but he does.”

Sam’s eyes were heavy, and for a moment, you were afraid the spell wouldn’t work and he’d fall back into unconsciousness.

“Sam?”

His eyes closed, but the smile stayed. “I just need to sleep a bit. Tell Dean to save me some food though, I’m starving.”

“Ok, Sammy. I will.” You were the only other person that could get away with calling him that. “I love you,” you whispered as he was just about out.

“Love you, too,” he mumbled, then finally fell back asleep, this time though he was snoring softly.

[Originally posted by frozen-delight](https://tmblr.co/ZSx6ko2RzSj-S)

 

After leaving Sam’s room, you found your way to the kitchen of the bunker and Dean moving around the room preparing a feast of dishes.

“Whoa, what is this, Thanksgiving?” you teased, leaning in the doorway.

Dean turned and snorted a nervous laugh. “Well, you know, it’s not every day your little brother returns from the brink of death.”

“Um, it isn’t?”

“Well, maybe for us it is. Still, gonna fix him all his favorites.”

“He fell back asleep for now. Probably best to let him rest. The spell needs time to heal him from the inside out. Don’t make him do much and especially DO NOT make him eat, whatever that disgusting concoction is.” You wrinkled your nose and pointed at the mound of greasy meat cooking on the stove.

Dean was playfully offended. “THAT, my dear, is Winchester Surprise, and it’s delicious.”

“That is a heart attack on a plate, and you will not feed it to Sam,” you warned and raised your brows waiting for him to challenge you. “I’d rather you didn’t eat it either.”

Dean waved you off. “It’ll be fine. Got arteries like an ox!” his fist pounded on his chest and he gave you a cheesy grin.

You reached around him and turned off the heat on the stove, then grabbed his arm and turned him to face you.

“Listen, Winchester. I am so sick of you and your brother constantly on the verge of death. Whether its monsters, angels, or greasy fucking meat, why are you always trying to kill yourself?!” You weren’t being playful anymore. “Jesus, ever since we broke up, the only time I see you OR Sam is when one of you is dead or dying or trying NOT to die. Do you know what that does to me?”

Dean didn’t say anything, but he knew that you were angry and didn’t try to interrupt. You drew in a deep breath and exhaled it shakily. He could see how affected you were, and that now that the danger had passed, the adrenaline subsided, you truly were able to feel the fear of almost losing one of them, again.

“I’m sorry,” he replied softly, his eyes cast down to the floor, unable to meet yours.

“Sam said he didn’t tell you to call me,” you retorted, ignoring his apologies. He opened his mouth to speak again but you held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. I just don’t understand why you lied.”

“Because you wouldn’t have come, and would you have stayed if I didn’t say he wanted you here.  _I_  wanted you here.”

“Why?”

“If anyone was going to be able to save him, it was you. Or, if I had to watch my little brother die, I needed someone here that loved him as much as I did…” he paused and seemed angry at the one stray tear that rolled down his cheek. “…and someone that loved me. I know you don’t now, but you used to—”

“I still do, Dean. God,  ** _I’m so in love with you that it hurts, like physically hurts_**. I have been for so long, but I could only watch you two sacrifice yourselves so many times before I had to walk away!”

Dean exhaled sharply and tried to stifle the grin that wanted to form. He knew it wasn’t time for that, but to hear you say that was enough to sustain him.

“I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, trying to contain the elation he felt.

“How about, you won’t do it anymore? Or, you’ll retire and just have a normal life? I don’t know, Dean but do something different for Christ’s sake!”

“You know that’s not possible,” he said, his tone laden with sudden sadness as his eyes hung heavy towards the floor.

Dean still refused to meet your gaze, despite the confession of still loving him. Feeling frustrated, angry, sad, and yet, still madly in love with him, you did the only thing you knew you could do—walk away.

 

Dean froze as she began walking towards the doorway that exited the kitchen. It was now or never. She loved him still… she just said as much. Like an idiot, he stood there and just let her say it with no retort; no admission of feelings he carried with like a weight around his shoulders. With everything had he’d just gone through with Sam, he certainly didn’t want to go through this with her again, too.

The day she had walked out on him was one of the worst days, and here he was about to relive it. She waited for another beat, and when he didn’t speak, she turned to leave, only pausing by the entry and turning halfway to face him.

“Sam’s better now, so, I’m going to leave. I’ll transfer enough of the grace to keep here, in case you need to perform the spell again. And Dean, the next time you need something… don’t call me, okay?”

She gave him the chance to speak up, but finally turned and walked out of the room. Leaning on the cold, steel counter, he closed his eyes and realized that if he didn’t get past his fear of losing her forever, he really would, lose her forever.

Suddenly, Sam’s voice spoke up clearly in his mind,  _‘You’re an asshole, go get her!’_ It was the same thing he said the night she walked out of the motel almost two years ago. That was before they found the bunker and some semblance of normalcy; before he’d almost lost Sam, again.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled to himself and took off down the hallway after her.

(Y/N) was just putting her books into her satchel when Dean came barreling into the library. There on the table was the grace she promised, but he didn’t care about that right then. She heard him enter, and turned, surprised to see him standing there.

Dean had caught her off guard, even more so when he closed the distance and pulled the books and bag from her hands. Once he laid them carefully no the table, he turned back to her.

Her eyes were brimming with tears and desperately searching his face for something to make her stay. Dean didn’t want to talk though, talking had been done to death. He just wanted her. Placing both of his palms against her cheeks, he gently guided her face towards him, and when his lips touched hers, he felt any resistance melt away when she began to kiss him back.

Dean’s hands gingerly slid from her cheeks and wrapped around her back, while hers snaked up around his neck. The last time he kissed her like that was two years before, and in that moment, all the lost time faded, and it was like they had never parted ways.

It was her tongue that encouraged his mouth to open for her, her nails that dug into his neck and her little whimper of fulfillment that perpetuated the kiss to develop into something so much more. Dean wanted to pick her up, feel her legs wrap around his waist, and carry her back to his room. He wanted to get reacquainted with her and her flesh, to feel her beneath him, to feel himself inside her.

Cooler heads prevailed much to their disappointments, and they finally pried their lips apart. Breathless and smiling, Dean just searched her face for any signs of regret. When he saw none, he left one last soft peck on her mouth.

“So, tell me…  ** _why aren’t we together_**?”

“Oh my God I hate you,” she chided and rolled her eyes. Uncoiling herself from his embrace, she took a step back and smoothed the fabric of her shirt. “You know why.”

“What if that changed? What if I promise, no more self-sacrifice? Hmm? Only regular hunts from here on out. No more end of the world nonsense?”

“You can’t promise that, Dean.”

“I can. For you, for Sam… I can do anything. Stay and let me prove it to you. Please, (Y/N), don’t leave again.”

She reached out and rested her hand against his chest. The feeling of his heart pounding in its cage, giving her proof of his life, opened her up to unintentionally hearing the thoughts bouncing around in his head. It was the first time he’d let his wall down around her enough for this to happen.

_God, please let her stay… I can’t lose her again…_

“Dean—”

“Just… wait, don’t say no. Consider it, we have a home now. No more motels, no more shitty dive bars for Bloody Mary breakfasts. We can live here…all of us. Do you think you could be happy here, with me?”

Dean’s nerves grew as she hesitated, contemplating what he’d just said. She took a few steps away from him and turned so he couldn’t see her face. His heart was pre-emptively breaking, assuming that she would turn to grab her things and flee. He decided he wouldn’t fight her if she did, he would just have to let her go.

To his surprise, when she turned, and her eyes were streaming lines of tears down her face, she wore a smile and was nodding.

“I think I would like that very much,” she said through a thick vale of emotion. “I would like that a whole hell of a lot, actually.”

Dean’s relief was met by her throwing herself into his arms and holding on for dear life. He squeezed his eyes shut and held her tightly, simply embracing her and leaving a few soft kisses on the top of her head. From behind them, a shuffling noise made them separate and look at the doorway.

Sam was standing there, wearing his rode and slippers, though he still looked tired, there was color in his face again.

“So, what? It only takes me almost dying to get you, two idiots, together again?”

Dean shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Great,” Sam replied. “Well, don’t screw it up this time, alright? I don’t plan on almost dying again.” He paused and sniffed the air. “Do I smell Winchester Surprise?”

Dean’s grin encapsulated his whole face. “Yes, you do little brother. Yes. You. Do.”

“And if you think you’re eating it, after what you just went through, you’re sadly mistaken, big guy.”

(Y/N) walked over towards Sam and put an arm around his waist. “Come on, let’s get you some healthy food, shall we?”

“Oh! I see how it is,” Dean called out from the library as they started walking down the hallway. “She’s the reason you started eating this healthy crap, isn’t she?!” They didn’t answer him back, but he was alright with it. He was shocked at the turn of events but satisfied to know that the love of his life had come back to him, Sam was alive, and there was a whole batch of his favorite, grossest food to eat, that was all for himself.

“Life’s good,” he whispered with a slight nod, as he left the room to join them in the kitchen. “Even if the woman I love eats like a rabbit.”


End file.
